The Grey Tower

“The first step to protecting the world is knowing the world and the only way to know the world is to seek to understand it,” Alshamz Sedai rambled. Her breathy tone was tinged with the faintest accent though Valadin could never place it. “Words. They allow you to understand the world, but even more intriguing is the fashion in which one might also shape an entirely new world with them.”

Midsummer heat crept under doors and latched itself onto the suffering students. Only the sound of quills tapping infrequently and often times ineptly interrupted the ageless Sister’s words. On every brow save for the teacher was a glistening amount of perspiration that only made crafting the letters on the parchment that much more difficult.

Time at the Grey Tower had passed far more quickly in the last months. Val’s first weeks had been nothing more than waiting unattended in his quarters, but once he’d been initiated into the ways of the bustling mechanism that were the chores and classes of Tower there rarely seemed to be enough hours in the day. Blinking away a trickle of moisture before it dotted his page he tried once more to mimic the fluid characters which had been demonstrated by Lady Alshamz. In his first weeks of the learning he’d barely managed to comprehend the letters and their meanings when asked, but now he could at least understand the difference between the men and women’s sleeping quarters.

More than one embarrassing mistake had gone into attaining that wisdom.

Angling the quill to match the crisp nature of the teacher’s writing sample resulted in a clumsy imitation, but Val smiled all the same before shaking his wrists at his sides. Months had gone into the scribbling that scarcely resembled the characters of his name, but now that he’d actually managed to etch the letters on paper he beamed at his progress. “Hmmm. Good, but you see here where the “d” goes down when it’s supposed to go up? That, child, spells ‘Valagin’ not Valadin. Again!” the instructor said in her perpetually hurried manner before waving her hand and lifting the ink from the page with only a thought.

Seeing the One Power utilized so closely at hand made Val sit up straight though he’d managed to school his face into blankness. Like so many things the Power had become a part of life. As was the Light-blinded sorcery of writing. Why in the Light-blasted sky would I needta’ learn how to write any?! I thought I was supposed to be learning to use the Power! he fumed as the dark splotches of liquid were guided back to the inkwell.

Ahead the Sister had already moved on to critiquing another student’s work. Grinding his teeth as he hunched over again in concentration Val jammed the felt tip into the ink. He was about slash madly across the parchment when an unseen force gripped his hand in mid-motion immobilizing him before he realized it.
“Tools are to be respected Master Manelle. After all one can hardly blame a hoe if the fields are tilled improperly any more than one might blame a horse for not taking the right path to town,” Alshamz Sedai called over her shoulder without looking.

As the invisible Weaves released him, the anger drained as the prospect of being touched by the One Power again kept his emotions in check. Soon the lesson was over and class broke for the evening chores that needed attending to throughout the village. Snatching up his collared coat in a hurry Val filed out of the room with the rest of the class though he spared a backward glance at the Brown Ajah Aes Sedai. Her head was turned away leaving only the knotted mess of wavy, brown hair visible. Sometimes the woman seemed so preoccupied it was a wonder she was a teacher, but as Val tossed the coat his shoulder he recalled the feeling of being helplessly captured by the very same unassuming woman. Perhaps. That’s the trick. Maybe what all she was saying about words being more than they are is more than about what they mean…it’s about bein’ able to use them. Or something.

The moment of clarity faded as his focus shifted to the more physically demanding chores of the night which included hauling in the firewood after a Dedicated chopped them down using Weaves of Fire and Air. Usually the task was run with a unit of 5 able-bodied lads for each Dedicated doing the lumbering, but Valadin had come to the Grey Tower in ironically good condition despite his years as a slave. Where the other Novices and Soldiers worked in tandem to carry out several blocks at a time, he usually managed the same feat alone and in half the time the others did together. This left him time in between runs where he could dawdle as he pleased.

It was during one of these times that he found himself re-working the shapes of Alshamz Sedai’s letters in his head. The first pairing of boys trotted back panting to the group and it was the team ahead of Val that had the next turn. Not far from where the Soldiers stood waiting for more wood to carry the pile of excess branches shorn from the severed logs was collected in a neat pile.

Conversation amongst his peers was often carried around him, but never with him. Many of the families that sent Novices, Soldiers, and even those of the Drin’far’ji came from families who spent some time teaching their children how to interact with other human beings. Everything Val had learned had been gathered from merchant haggling, bodyguard gossip, and the occasional bawdy Lightskirt seduction; never anything formal. It had contributed to the isolation he felt even as he worked closely with individuals his age, but his natural inclination to avoid people had helped balm the loneliness that had gnawed at him in the early days. Now as the night’s breeze cooled the sweat of his shirtless torso he reached for on the branches.

Rather than guiding with his arms as he’d done in class he simply flicked the stick in a quick stroke that resulted in a surprisingly even line. Encouraged by his success, Val made another this time striking upwards with a gentle twisting of his wrist and in two motions he’d carved a discernible scrawling of the first letter of his name. “Hey! Woolhead!” the Dedicated barked hoarsely, his temper flaring at the delay of the chores.

Valadin mumbled an apology before quickly dropping the stick and moving to hoist to large chunks of wood over either shoulder. The frayed cotton was doused with a number fine smattering of sawdust, but the laundry team would see to his clothing early in the morning. Though he silently shivered under the glare of the Dedicated glaring at him as he trotted to the drop off on the other side of the encampment a smirk ghosted across his features as he pictured the shape of his letter etched into the dirt.

Within the next week Val’s handwriting improved dramatically. His strokes were bold and certain though far from perfect. Alshamz Sedai commented infrequently at how certain characters would bend the wrong way or how his tongue would incorrectly sound out an example word, but those times were becoming fewer and far between. Soon Val found himself no longer shrinking in his seat when it was his turn to demonstrate letter forms and rattle off verb tenses from the previous day’s lessons. He never volunteered, but his sheepishness towards reading and writing had all, but disappeared. Finally after an afternoon which he presented a letter written to Alshamz Sedai on the how reading and writing might serve useful in the future role he played at the tower the Sister stopped him upon his exit.

For the first time since Val had attended her class he noticed the woman’s hazel eyes burning bright with intelligence as they searched his face for something. Feeling the heat rush to his face at the silence Val shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, “Something I can help you with Lady Sedai?”

“Not quite yet,” the Sister responded quickly, the words ramming into the end of its previous counterpart. He’d grown used to awkward form of speech and now the notes he took had fewer gaps as he spent less time trying to legibly pen her lectures. “Your writing has improved quite a bit in the last few weeks; what changed?”

“I realized that learning a word ain’t just about sounding out every letter, it’s about putting those sounds together to make them fit,” he answered, “….a bit like a setting up a winning play in a bout of Stones. Takes seeing everything together.”

A momentary smirk pulled at the edges of the serene Aes Sedai face, but it was gone so quickly Val began convincing himself he’d imagined it. Slowly the transformation took place and before he understood what was happening the lady before him had returned to being the absentminded instructor of lessons he’d always known.

“That will be all. Well done, Soldier.”

The corridors teemed with endless activity as if the halls of the Tower were the veins of a living thing. Bodies passing to and fro as Sisters, Warders, and Asha’man alike moved with poised grace that belied not only their station, but their various senses of entitlement. Running alongside them although with a lesser presence of command were the Dedicated and Accepted who often attended to the needs of a favored Sister or were being groomed to be bonded upon progressing through the ranks. At this time midday Novices and Soldiers would be busied with a plethora of chores that were necessary to maintain the upkeep of the Tower making them scarce among the current population. Hierarchy in many ways ruled the Grey Tower as much as it did any King’s Court—likely more so. Each person’s duties and proximity to those of importance was a symbol of power and clout, both of which were flouted to varying degrees no matter how veiled the displays were.

The question, however was did structure always dictate power?

Val, taller and larger than many of the hall’s inhabitants, struggled to make room as a slant-eyed Accepted strode purposefully towards him. Her white dress streamed around her like a playful cloud in an empty summer sky, but her expression was stormy; not someone Val needed to be tangling with. He had enough to handle with Alshamz Sedai asking him to copy a new Saldean legislation transcript that the Brown Ajah had received only days past. The Sister doled out assignments to whomever she believed capable of the task so in a way Val believed it was an honor to be chosen.

Rolls of parchment jutted out from between his arms as he tried to edge around the hostile girl.

“Hold, are you Soldier Valhadin?” she demanded while setting herself firmly in her path.

Around them the chaos continued as no one seemed to notice the confrontation. Swallowing nervously he looked for help and not finding any he sighed before responding, “I am Soldier Valadin, Accepted. I’m taking care of something for Alshamz Sedai so if you’ll excuse me…”

As he moved to leave the Ajah headquarters she barred his path again this time poking a pudgy finger into his chest. “Yes, well Lady Alshamz has asked me to help you with this something,” the girl sneered. “Come along then. To the library we go. Perhaps you’ll amuse me in the interim.”

With a sigh Val found himself trailing behind the abrasive young Accepted until they reached the Ajah library where the smell of old tomes permeated through the air. Here the bustle was dramatically reduced as the only sounds were those of pages being turned or the whispered requests for aid as people sought out the knowledge that lay stocked on heavily warded shelves.

“Over there.” The girl had ‘graced’ him with the name ‘Cara’.

She was appeared to be snobbish and unfriendly for no particular reason. When she walked she stepped lightly on her tiptoes as if attempting to avoid something unsightly upon the ground. There might have been a prettiness to her had her mouth not been wrinkled in a perpetual grimace of disproval, one that was currently aimed in Val’s direction as he took his seat at the writing desk she’d provided.

“Accepted, what are we doing here?” he asked in as quiet a voice as he could manage.

“The text. Give it to me. I’ll dictate and you scribe it down.”

Uncertain what to do in this instance Val acquiesced not wanting to face the wrath of an Accepted over trivial misgivings. He handed over the banded parchment that the Sister had given him and when Cara removed the seal he saw for the first time that the contents were written in some nonsensical scrawling that he’d never seen in his life. “Blood and ashes…” he gasped before comprehending what he’d said.

“That’ll be ten lashes at the end of the day,” Cara warned without looking up from the coded report.

“Yes, Accepted.”

“Must you always be so meek? It’s disconcerting to see such a milk-hearted lummox trying to be an Asha’man; do you even know what that means?”

“Well…no…I mean no, Accepted; I do not.”

“Asha’man is the Old Tongue for Guardian. The Dragon Reborn himself named male channelers such to give them a chance at redeeming themselves…though he probably didn’t someone like you would join their ranks.”

Perhaps he should have felt insulted, but strangely Val was overcome with a desire to be outside and doing anything other than holding a quill. Shrugging out of his coat which he placed over the back of his chair he rolled the cuffs of his tunic to avoid staining it; he didn’t have very many left until laundry day came around again. “I’m ready when you are, Accepted.”

“Incorrect, Soldier; you’re ready when I say you’re ready.”
“Yes, Accepted.”

“Light! Haven’t you got a spine? You’re as big as an ox and you’ve got the backbone of Domani dancer!” Cara laughed and this time Val felt his cheeks reddening.

“Can we just get on with this?”

“Only if you can make me.”

“Accepted, Lady Sedai is waiting,” Val growled his large size leaning over the small writing desk, “If this doesn’t get done in a timely fashion we’ll both be taking lashes tonight.”

“Better, but I’ll just blame you for being incompetent and furthermore an entirely unruly young man.”

The playful twinkle in her eye was driving him mad. There wasn’t a single person nearby to bear witness to the blatant tomfoolery taking place. It brought Val back to a time before his years of forced subservience when he’d been a child with no parents in a village where no one wanted to claim or even befriend him. During those times he’d been the target of ridicule and dangerous pranks at the hands of the village children often leaving him bloodied and sobbing by sunset. Every day had brought a new torment which Val schemed to escape from only to be circumvented each time. One day he had enough. Something within him boiled over and the uncomfortable politeness of his nature was burned away leaving a hard seriousness that made him feral in his desire to avoid more pain. He remembered how despite being two heads shorter than the shortest boy in the village he’d threatened every one of his assailants that if they didn’t leave him be he’d burn each of their houses down. As their faces blanched in naked fear the satisfaction of his success made him more certain of himself as he jeered and yelled at them until they all scurried back at home.

That had been the last day he’d had to worry about bullies for after that he’d quickly grown into a sizable man making it even less likely that anyone would pick on him. Here at the Tower in the presence of men and women who could command storms and control the mind of another such force of personality would lack effect. Or would it?

“Accepted…” he began in a low voice. Within him he felt a familiar wave of heat filling him from the tips of toe to the crown of his head. Now he was no longer in his seat. He instead walked to the other side of the table where Cara now watched him sternly, but cautiously. With one arm draped over her chair Val drew close to her until the scent of soap on her skin filled his nostrils, “I will ask you one more time and if you fail to comply I might end up with lashes tonight, but I will get even with you. Even if it’s by the Dark One’s own hand I will see you get exactly what you deserve.”

At this Cara snorted, but where she had been unperturbed by his closeness to her before she shrank away now. It wasn’t that he’d noticed anything or even understood anything more about her since he’d first met her. Women as a whole were a mystery he’d experienced in small doses and then only when commanded by his handlers to do for their pleasure. There had never been a girl he’d been sweet on as a child so Val knew nothing of a girl’s tenderness, but now there was the wideness of her emerald eyes as they beheld him and the way her mouth opened to retort only to remain silent that told gave him a sense of power. His shadow devoured her in its wake and when he rose to full height he became aware of how much smaller she was than he—how much smaller most of people were than he was.

“May we continue now?” he asked, his voice sharp, low, and biting.

“No.” Her own lacking its earlier venom was now meek and small, but Val had had enough.

“JUST DO IT!” he snapped his fist burrowing into the wooden surface of the table they’d sat at.

The outburst quickly drew the attention of several Novices and even another Accepted, but by then Val had walked off his temper blinding him to consequences of his actions. It wasn't until later when he’d grown calmer and had time to think upon his actions that he grew concerned about the work not being done. The penance for angering an Aes Sedai would be steep, but that night no one from the Master of Soldiers came for to escort him to his punishment. Even the next day continued without event despite his constant anxiety. By afternoon when it had come time to meet with Alshamz Sedai to review his work Val found that the report had already been deciphered and copied,

“Well done, Soldier. Accepted do'Lamri had very few bad things to say about you. That’s not something I’ve had happen very often. You must have made quite an impression on her.”

As usual the words carried with them a hint of knowing that Val dared not challenge, but this time it was no longer out of fear. His experience with Cara—an Accepted, a superior—had taught him that even those with position could be coerced if confronted directly with greater force. The knowledge of this had him smiling though the Aes Sedai had already dismissed him from the woman and as he moved through the corridor he caught sight of Cara watching him as she hurried in the other direction.

It was only for a moment, but they both knew that their relationship as Soldier and Accepted had forever been altered by a simple piece of parchment.

Val was quickly learning that gossip traveled like wildfire through the ranks of Novice, Soldiers, and Drin’far’ji alike. Even now in the quiet of evening where whispered conversation ruled the dining hall before curfew, the eyes of those around him watched every motion in an effort to understand the source of the rumor. He didn’t always catch them outright—he’d never been keen on paying attention to all the little details—but there were uncomfortable instances where a person would remain motionless at the far edge of his vision and when he turned to meet their eye they’d suddenly be moving again. Tonight was no different as he picked at the last shreds of a weevil-filled loaf of bread to find a few edible strands. Letting his wander with an exhale, his troubles left him and he could see the Dancing Cartman, the stables, and the horses jostling in recognition as he approached.
Arlen never liked Shade Blossom and she never liked him Val laughed to himself. One of his favorite nags was an unruly mare when she wanted to be, but the birthmark on her snout spread against her midnight black hide like a beautiful Goldenthorn earning her the name Shade Blossom. Val had seen a the flower when a trader from south of the Erinin offered to sell old Saml the seeds to sweeten a bartering deal. Although stable hands were rarely allowed in the inn, Val had hidden just outside the room where the men spoke and prayed that the old crook would take the deal, but of course the innkeeper never bit. Memories of Saml and his hard-boiled way of settling things brought a faded measure of happiness to Val’s features as he dropped the last bit of bread back onto his plate.

“So, yer ‘im, eh?”

Startled by the suddenness of the question Val jumped to his feet and in the process knocked the air out of his unexpected guest with an errant elbow, “What?! Oh! Sorry! Hey, mate? Y’alright?”

“Aye, aye, I’m fine, but Light! Yer a biggun! Near took me ‘ead off at the seams, ya did!” the scruffy looking lad answered though he remained hunched over for a time longer. Not knowing what else to do Val noticed that the boy had dropped something on the ground and knelt for it realizing only as he straightened to stand that it was a board to play Stones upon. “Figured ya might no like some of the people ‘ere, but ya might fancy a game afore headin’ to bed.”

Noticing the boy more completely now as the soft glow of torchlight brightened the details of his face Val picked out a distinct olive tinged skin and a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of a few brawls. Despite this, the Soldier—as Val marked him to be by the coat hanging overly loose about the young man’s shoulders—was impish in stature with Val dwarfing him by more than three or four heads. Yet another person I can’t imagine where they come from. The world’s a much bigger place than I guessed at, Val decided before offering an apologetic smirk and a sheepish hand.

“Well, it’s the least I can do for…after belting you like that.”

“Right then! A game it tis then!”

Before long the game was underway and Val had found himself a formidable opponent. Cin, as the boy’s name turned out to be, was a not quite as learned in the game as Val, but he was incredibly skilled at feints. More than once Val found himself moving pieces to circumvent an injurious advance when turns later he would realize that the effort had been folly as the true motive had lay elsewhere. The remaining time for evening supper passed with the two minds locked into the game at hand with Cin edging closer towards victory despite Val’s prowess. For some reason it burned him that his years of winning was being threatened by someone who looked like they could barely handle their way through life let alone strategy, but Cin was crafty. Where most would open with a frontal assault followed by a text book reinforcement strategy, he flanked early on and allowed his pieces to sit exposed for long periods of the game before ever looking at them again. As the lights dimmed signaling the time for bed Val found himself both amused and annoyed at the difficulty he’d faced.

“That was…that was good, Cin. My thanks,” he said with a slight bow.

Cin patted him on the shoulder and gave an oily wink of the eye, “Oi, come on ‘ow, we’ll ‘ave no of that. No soul ‘as won the game just yet so we’ll ‘ave it till someone does…or the Dark One take us both!” With that Cin took his board and headed off into the darkness of the hallway his gangly legs taking him from sight quickly.

In the days that followed Val looked forward only to the games that the two young men shared at night. For some reason he couldn’t find Cin during the morning hours though with the sheer size of the Tower and the amount of work needing to be done there was nothing strange about this. Sadly, it meant that the estrangement from his peers became that much more noticeable as people marked him as a madman who had assaulted an Accepted and got away with it. More than once Val was forced to face down would-be challengers as the other recruits tested him at every turn and he met them head-on. His encounter with Cara had changed him; had made him unbreakable. After a lifetime of meekly taking on the jeers and ridicule of others, Val found himself pushing back and establishing a reputation as a brawler…though he’d never actually been a fight.

That was something he’d picked up from Cin. Val found that like in Stones imposing one’s will could be done from a position of power or it could be done from a position of perceived power. Many times people mistook him as a skilled warrior simply because he was large in size and his muscles bulged tellingly when he performed the labor others might have struggled to do with relative ease. In small ways he added to the persona, allowing his temper to flare at the slightest provocations while at other times he remained as docile as a mouse. It wasn’t intuitive, but Val slowly began to incorporate this new train of thought into his gameplay. Soon Stones was not only about logical tactics, but about the feinting aspects of the player as well.

When he was about to make a big move on Cin, he’d appear distraught with indecision and when he felt pressured he acted as if to move pieces with swift purpose. Gradually the balance which had been tipped in Cin’s favor returned to even footing as weeks turned into months and finally the combination of Val’s skill at the game as well as his cleverness bested his playing partner.

“Aw, blast! Me los’ the bloody ‘ame on a cheap move!” Cin cursed. Flopping onto his back the boy huffing his irritation into the air while Val offered condolences and occasionally beaming victoriously when he thought his friend wasn’t looking. Later that night sleep came easier than it ever had in the Tower and the prospect of being a male channeler or living in the presence of thousands no longer bothered Val. In some ways returning to something familiar had steeled him for the trials that would come.

And come they did.

Two weeks later Cin didn’t show up for dinner like usual. Though concerned Val thought it might simply have been a matter of his friend having duties or punishments to attend to. Their nightly meetings were sporadically interrupted when one or other was forced to visit the Master of Soldiers office for the administration of punishment, but Cin didn’t show the next night either.

Or the one that followed or any night after that.

For a few weeks Val inquired as to what happened to his friend and finally a month later one of the Dedicated informed him that Cin had burned himself out by channeling too much of the One Power during training and the loss of it was so devastating that the boy had taken his life later that night.

After that it took every effort for Val to maintain his reputation. He was crushed and like predators the others sensed it. They closed in on him when he appeared weak so he quickly adapted. When he was at weakest he made certain to face the biggest of the bullies—some of whom were larger than even he—and though he never raised a fist his hecklers soon grew bored of him, choosing easier targets to amuse themselves with. In the quiet of the night he would curl up with Cin’s board and finger the rough edges of the slab imagining that his friend had done the same many times before. Every jocular smile, lewd comment, and obscene gesture had left an indelible mark on Val’s personality. The pain of losing a friend was something he’d not experienced before and like a dagger thrust into his heart the pain tightened into a noose; one he struggled not to allow tighten around his neck every day.

So Val continued his time in the Grey Tower by playing a game that everyone knew instinctively, but somehow forgot; the game of survival.